Evil Isn't A Cosmological Riddle,

Writing Is A Consequence Of Having Been 'haunted' By Material. Why This Is, No One Knows.

Every Scar In My Face Is Worth It.

I Can't Imagine A Mental Life, A Spiritual Existence, Not Inextricably Bound Up With Language Of A Formal, Mediated Nature. Telling Stories, Choosing An Appropriate Language With Which To Tell The Story: This Seems To Me Quintessentially Human, One Of The Great Adventures Of Our Species.

Though I Revise Constantly As I Write, I Will Usually Revise Much Of The Work Again After I've Reached The Ending.

My Life Is A Very Interior And Solitary Life. I Tend Not To Care That Much About External Things.